by J E Higgins
11
It wasn’t the most comfortable environment, Sauwa thought to herself.
The dead silence and the three strange men sitting next to her made for an unpleasant situation. Still, when she thought about the several times she had been in far worst circumstances, she felt she should be counting herself lucky. She had looked about the room casually once or twice. It was a conditioned action from her training and experience. Never waste a chance to collect intelligence and learn about who you’re dealing with. She had noticed that one of the darker skinned gentlemen had casually done the same, while the other two men only glanced at the man guarding the doorway and then settled in keeping their eyes forward.
She didn’t like to make quick judgments ─ it was a reckless way of operating. She decided that these men were all former soldiers, perhaps from some sort of commando regiment or counter-guerrilla force. She couldn’t imagine Valikov, a man obsessed with his professional reputation and eager to please potential long-term customers, providing anything less.
She recognized the two men coming through the entryway instantly. They were the two men Valikov had spoken to a week ago, and she had seen them again this evening at the bar. The larger man was the Russian who was followed by the shorter, large-framed Asian fellow. They said nothing as they entered the room and circled around the four seated mercenaries.
The two men scrutinized each person and the mercenaries displaying an assortment of unspoken responses. The sandy-haired man gave them both a quick up and down glance and then lowered his eyes to focus on his twiddling thumbs; the two dark-skinned men leaned back in their chairs, one shooting the two men a somewhat cocky stare while the other was deadpan serious. Sauwa rested her hands on her stomach as she looked directly at both men with the appearance of a student awaiting a lecture from her professor.
Tarkov gave a signal to Carzona who slipped to the back of the room. Regarding the assorted group, Tarkov started. “For the purposes of this operation, all discussions and orders will be carried out in English. This is a language you should all be able to speak.”
The room rumbled with English responses acknowledging they understood him, and they met that criteria. “Good, then we will conduct this presentation in an orderly way. We are recruiting for a special mission that will be carried out abroad and will be dangerous. The pay for your services will be eighty-thousand U.S. dollars upon completion of the mission with the promise of a twenty-thousand-dollar additional bonus if the mission goes over two months. If you are not interested, please make this known now.”
No one moved from their seat. None of the men made any gesture that indicated reluctance. Sauwa was less than enthusiastic. She would have happily raised her hand and opted out of this whole ordeal, except for the fact that Valikov would not stand for her backing out. She sat quietly allowing her face and body to express the sheer disinterest she had in this operation. She could feel the Russian looking down on her intently. She waited for him to say something. Instead, he pressed on.
“Very well, we will interview you one at a time in a room down the hall. When we are finished, you will be driven back to the location where we picked up and paid for your time this evening along with some cab or bus fare to get you back to your domiciles. If you are chosen, we will be contacting you in four days.” His comments were met with nods from everyone.
The interviews began with the sandy-haired man. He was waved out the door and led down the hall followed by the Russian and his Asian associate. Sauwa waited along with the other two men. They both looked at each other as if they wanted to strike up a conversation but demurred when they looked around and saw eyes watching them. It sent the message that whoever was hiring them was serious in what they were doing and idle chit-chat might not go over very well.
Twenty minutes later, they heard a door open at the end of the hall. A second later, the sandy-haired man walked in. His demeanor was that of a statue, his face expressionless. He sat down and turned his attention to twiddling his thumbs and acting as if he were alone in the room. Sauwa watched the man play with his fingers. The two other men looked as if they were eager to ask him about what had happened but resisted.
“Next!” Came the curt command from the man guarding the door as he pointed at Sauwa. Rising to her feet she started walking to the door. The man, a near twin to the younger man who had picked her up from the bar this evening, twisted his hand waving her to a room at the end of the hallway. As instructed, she walked the short distance down the hall. She was tense, and the walk felt like miles.
The door was ajar. She peeked in not knowing precisely what to do. Inside she saw the Russian and the other man sitting behind a plastic folding table. Catching sight of her, the Russian waved her in. Sauwa walked through the door and sat down in a folding chair across from them. Her hands slid into her lap as she interlaced her fingers.
“What is your name?” The Russian opened the discussion.
“Marisa Ramsey,” she replied.
He looked up at her. “That is not your real identity, is it?” His tone was sharp, and he gazed at her as if he was about to read her biography if she tried to deny it.
“No, it isn’t,” she replied.
“Give us your real name,” the Russian commanded.
She hesitated. She looked over to see the Asian man, who had been directing his attention elsewhere but was now looking at her and letting her know he wanted an answer as well. “You have the name I gave you,” she eventually replied. “I don’t see any reason to press the matter. It’s the one I go by right now. If you’re not comfortable with it, then I guess I’m not what you need.” She started to get up.
“Remain where you are,” the Russian commanded in a low growl. He glared at her intently as if deciding his next move. Not wanting to push the issue, she sank back into her seat.
“I assume you have some document to verify your identity?” He acted like he wanted to jump across the table and attack her if she gave him another rebellious answer. Tipping her head slightly, she reached into her coat and produced a leather-bound booklet. She slid the booklet across the table toward them. Picking it up, he began to examine it. It was a British passport with a picture of her likeness on it and bearing the name of Marisa Ramsey. He handed the document to his cohort and looked back at her. “You’re not British though,” he stated.
“For this purpose, I am,” she replied, not wanting to divulge her identity to these strangers. If they dismissed her over this issue, she would at least have a valid excuse for Valikov.
“You’re used to dealing with non-English speaking foreigners.” The Russian cracked the beginnings of a smile. “You’ve posed as a Brit, but I’ve spent years in southern Africa. I know a Rhodesian accent when I hear it. Since the country doesn’t exist anymore, I can only assume you are South African either by birth or by immigration from Rhodesia.”
It was no use keeping up the deception. The Russian looked at her with certainty ─ she was not going to be able to deceive him. To try and continue insisting she was British was futile. But, it was utterly insane to tell a group of strangers who she really was. She thought again of walking out but realized one phone call to Valikov and she would be right back here with them knowing her actual name and history.
“You’re right,” she began. “I’m technically South African.”
“I can assume that you have given us a fake name and nationality because you are a fugitive from someplace,” the Asian man interjected. “There is no point in trying to hide. If we can’t get the truth out of you, I’m certain Mr. Andre Valikov would oblige us in unmasking your identity. So, there is really no point in hiding who you are.” The Asian man had come to the same conclusion she had and seemed ready and interested enough to continue this inquiry as such.
Giving a deep sigh she began. “My name is Sauwa Catcher.” She waited to see the reaction of her interviewers. Their faces were expressionless.
“What is your background Ms. Catcher?” The Rus
sian had settled back in his chair apparently content he was hearing the truth. “What is your professional experience?”
Running her tongue over her upper lip, she prepared herself. “I was for years in the employ of South African military intelligence as an operative for their direct-action arm known as the Civil Cooperation Bureau.”
“I have heard of this organization,” the Russian stated, half talking to her, half apprising his cohort. “My dealings with them in Africa were rare. What I do know is they were most ruthless in the way they engaged the enemy. They were also quite effective in many regards.”
“We were,” Sauwa said nothing more. She didn’t feel the comment warranted any elaborate response either in her defense or adulation. Her opinion must have been evident in her attitude. The Russian pressed the matter further. “Then I can only imagine your work was deeply involved in covert missions and the execution of clandestine war against your enemy abroad.”
“I guess you could say that.” Her reply was again brief and undetailed.
The Russian scowled at her. “I do not appreciate your evasive responses,” he growled. “You are not being questioned by the authorities or a prosecutor. You are here because we wish to hire a skilled operative for an important job! If you are truly interested in getting it, I suggest your replies be more detailed and open.”
Her mood remained unchanged. The threatening words and tone of the burly Russian had not yielded the slightest hint of intimidation.
“Perhaps it is not a job I’m suited for,” she suddenly replied. “I’ve then wasted your time and should leave right now.” She moved to get up.
“Not so fast,” the alien voice of the Asian chimed in once more. “If you walk out that door my next phone call will be to Mr. Valikov, and the topic will be about you. What will he say if I recounted the details of this interview and your behavior to him?”
She paused mid-way out of her chair. Sauwa looked at the Asian man, who was gazing back at her with determination.
“Sit down,” he commanded, his voice low and curt.
Sauwa sank back into her chair and remained silent. For the first time, her demeanor had gone from quiet indifference to a mixture of anger and nervousness. The Asian nodded to his colleague yielding the interview back to him. The Russian resumed his questioning. “You gave us a false name and identity. I can only assume you are a fugitive from some government.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Here in Turkey?” The Russian shot her a hard, inquisitive look demanding further elaboration with this answer.
“No, not in Turkey,” she sighed. “My previous missions for the Apartheid left me a branded war criminal. I’m currently wanted in South Africa. I’m also wanted by the British government and also heavily sought in Ireland.”
The Russian frowned. “I don’t know that I like the idea of having wanted criminals for our operation.”
“If I may,” Sauwa interjected. “You’re interviewing for a job that is highly dangerous. I can only assume it is illegal since you’re not using any of your own people. You have two highly trained and competent people for this line of work. Don’t expect to be interviewing a bunch of professional soldiers and intelligence operatives sitting here with distinguished service histories and an endless list of medals and commendations. Those types hire out to fight in legitimate wars in Africa and the Middle-East.
“You’ve brought in a bunch of us who haven’t shown the slightest hesitation to being brought to an empty house in a remote section of town by dubious means. None of us questioned it or were the least bit concerned because for us this is part of the normal routine. The person who put you in touch with us is an arms broker who is recommending us based upon the work we’ve done for him in the process of his criminal enterprises. We’re here because we are criminals and work in the criminal world. Expect that most of us have records with the police or are known to various law enforcement and intelligence agencies.”
The two men sat quietly for a long period of time. The silence reminded them of a monastery. The Russian looked over at his Asian colleague who only looked back with an expressionless face. “You’ve been doing this sort of work a long time?” The Russian finally broke the silence. “Your legal status is of concern, I will not lie. But you are still capable of travel and your time with the CCB has given you extensive overseas operational experience?”
“I’m wanted in Great Britain for the missions I carried out, and the operations I participated in.” Sauwa had reverted back to her more comfortable rebellious posture.
“Explain further what you did in your service for the South Africans,” the Russian said, his glance was one of suspicion.
“I was part of a special infiltration team, code-named Dark Chamber,” she began. “It was comprised of Rhodesian born whites and South Africans of British lineage. Our mission was to blend into British society and conduct intelligence gathering against left-wing, anti-Apartheid political groups and Black Nationalist organizations operating out of European safe havens. We were to also carry out a covert campaign against these organizations and disrupt their activities and destroy any means they created to support terrorist efforts back in Africa.”
“You worked clandestine operations then?” the Russian asked.
“Yes, I did,” she replied.
“And since then?” he continued.
“What I’m doing now,” she replied. “You could say I work as a mercenary. I’ve had a few masters since leaving the services of South Africa. I have worked for whoever has been inclined to employ me and for what purpose ─ spy, assassin, mercenary. In my current circumstances, I can’t afford to be choosy about who I work for. Right now, it is our mutual acquaintance.”
“This operation promises to be risky and arduous,” the Russian explained. “I’m very much concerned about how a woman will handle such a mission.”
Giving a shrug, Sauwa cocked her head to one side. “If you’re not sure, then don’t hire me. Nothing is worse than being in the field with leadership that is always worried about you and constantly inhibits your ability to do your job. If you can’t have me because you think a woman needs extra supervision and protection, then it’s just as well you don’t hire me. Otherwise, in my experience, nothing is more dangerous than an operational leader thinking with his paternal instincts. He inevitably jeopardizes the mission and everyone because he’s no longer giving sound direction or making logical judgment calls. If you can’t see me as a soldier like everyone else, then you’re going to get us all killed. And, that is the truth.”
“Thank you for your time,” the Russian said as he raised his hand off the table and waved her to leave.
Sauwa did so, nodding slightly as she rose from her chair and left the room. She returned to the main room and to the other three candidates. They were as she had left them ─ still sitting quietly not paying her the slightest attention. The call came for the next candidate and one of the mocha skinned men came to his feet and walked out the door.
Sinking into the chair next to the sandy-haired man, she leaned back feeling a tad exhausted from the night’s events. If she didn’t get picked for the job, she could at least be assured that Valikov wouldn’t hear anything that would suggest she deliberately sabotaged it.
The mocha skinned man returned thirty minutes later. The next mocha skinned man left for his interview. He returned in less than ten minutes. A few minutes later the Russian and the Asian entered the room and thanked everyone for their time. Reminding them that their process would take a few days and, it would be the end of the week before they heard anything. They were all led out of the room by the same route they had entered. They exited the house and were led back to the van where they were met by the young man who had gathered them from the bar. As they were loaded into the back of the van, the young man handed them each a thick white envelope, supposedly the pay they had earned for their time.
The ride back was as full of turns as it had been getting to the house. Wh
en they reached the bar, they were released from the van. As they exited the vehicle, the young Asian man reminded them that they needed to leave a means of contact if they wished employment. Hands were raised offering him bits of paper with their contact information. Sauwa handed him the number Valikov had given her for this occasion. The young man quickly examined it before stuffing it into his pocket. Turning around, she quietly proceeded down the street.
12
Sauwa’s interview had not gone well. They didn’t seem interested in having a female on this mission and were not happy she was an international fugitive. She was confident she had heard the last from the Russian mercenary and his mysterious compatriots from the South Pacific.
However, at the end of the week, as promised, a call came through to Valikov, who delightedly informed her she had been accepted as one of their hires. She was shocked and bitter. This was a feather in Valikov’s cap, an expansion of the client base for his business. That his friend, Tarkov, and his employers found suitable candidates from his referrals could only work in his favor.
Hearing she was now to take part in some high-risk operation with a bunch of dubious mercenary types did not sit well with her. Some small part of her wanted to argue. She knew, however, it would be a futile endeavor. Everyone was to meet the following night at 1900 hours near a small café along the shoreline. She would be met by the same man who had initially approached her and taken her to the house. Oddly, the plan was remarkably less complex and security conscious than what she had gone through the first time. She presumed the first meeting was not just for interviews but to see if they had become of interest to a third party. The reduction of precautions told her they were confident they had not.
She spent her day completing her usual security checks with Mustafa then spent the rest of her time exercising in her boss’s household gym ─ she was one of the very few to enjoy this perk. A solid routine of cardio and weight lifting kept her fit for her duties. Afterword, she enjoyed a warm shower and then packed lightly for her trip using her small knapsack. She had to balance personal needs with the need to travel light and be mobile. Once she left for the meeting, she would be entirely on their schedule. Judging by the camping gear and logistics, it was easy to assume she would not be leaving their safe house until they moved to their destination.